


Wrapped In Words.

by fearless_seas



Series: We Were Made of Sunshine and Gold [2]
Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Fluff, M/M, POV Second Person, Phone Calls & Telephones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2018-05-27
Packaged: 2019-05-14 08:45:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14766335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fearless_seas/pseuds/fearless_seas
Summary: For a moment you simply hold it there to your chest and forget to look at it.Pierre Gasly.You want to pick it up . . . But you can’t.





	Wrapped In Words.

**Author's Note:**

> I am having a disastrous week. French translations on the bottom, it is my second language so let me know if anything needs editing.

         It’s the day after October 5th, 2014. That’s all you need to tell anyone--that way they'll understand you.

         You lay on your bed watching the colors drift across your ceiling in and out through the shut blinds. You hadn’t slept in a day, your clothes feel heavier than they are supposed to be and you cannot quite tell what hour it is. Waiting. That’s what you are doing: waiting and nothing more after that. Because, in truth, it was all that you could do. That and not a thing other. Helplessness, correct? You twist on you side in a pathetically slow movement and follow the pale light on your phone as it ignites up a corner of the wall. It will come out in your voice, you know, that’s why you don't pick up the phone as it rings because you would much prefer have no one know the soft sadness that may emerge from your dormant vocal chords. It chimes a second time and you blink wearily, rubbing a hand over your sore eyelids before reaching to the bedside table messily and picking up the phone. For a moment you simply hold it there to your chest and forget to look at it.

_Pierre Gasly._

         You want to pick it up.

_Pierre Gasly._

         But you can’t.

_Pierre Gasly._

         So, despite this, you do because temptation is more than needed. You hadn’t noticed how shaky your hands had become until now. The screen presses to your ear and you slow your loud breathing. There was silence for a moment, a long hesitation that begged to be cut and filled.

 _“Charles?”,_ you stay reticent and jam it farther into your cheek as if attempting to soak in the warmth of his voice. _“Etes-vous là?”_ , and you ponder a loud reply: _always_. Their vocals on the other end were as soft as a pillow and gentle as waves rolling across the calm sand of a shore. _“Tu n'as pas à parler,”_ and this brings a small smirk to your face and it is gone before one could ever notice it’s repercussions. “ _Je peux parler pour nous deux,_ ” you think: _I know_. You're exhausted in a way that numbed any words attempting to escape you. You at the same time believe you are being selfish because Pierre must be suffering too. It was a beautiful thing, the selflessness of their strength. “ _Je peux te voir en ce moment,_ ” you shut your eyes and a calm settles in your chest, knotting its way into the shafts of your spine and the bars of ribs in your chest. “ _Je sais ce que tu ressens maintenant_ ,” Pierre sighed on the other end and you grip the phone, swallowing hard and praying maybe he wouldn't leave. And he doesn’t. He never does. It will take a lifetime for you to remember that. “ _Encore têtu,_ ” they chuckled lightly and you sense your stomach buzz with dying life, “ _mais toujours beau_ ,” you eyes shut once again, “ _toujours beau, toujours._ ”

         There was the silence again. Both of you do not care, you could sit in that silence with just the sound of each other’s breaths as they fall in shallow, enveloping waves over the caress of each other’s skin. He is telling you phrases without speaking: _let me fill you with words so you shall feel less empty today._ A sound forces your eyes parted to the obscurity about you in the room. Perhaps that is why you hold the phone so close, it is a pillar of brightness in a disgustingly hollow, negative world. Pierre is just that: light and everything bright, shiny and priceless.

         “ _Charles?_ ”

         You sigh and shift farther into the pillow. “Pierre,” but they are content with just that one word.

         “ _Ca ira, Charles._ ”

         You don't understand why these words struck you. Just those letters and nothing else. Not the thoughts preying in your mind or the depressing, slow drip of Pierre’s voice communicating just for you. Those words. Pierre doesn’t know that. He is lying to you and no one else because he will do anything for you. He is a trembling, leaky sailboat rocking in a chaotic sea. A lighthouse maybe. Suddenly, you feel your throat bob, the walls of muscle closing in on itself and your hands clench the tattered bed sheets. “Tu me manques,” you finally said.

         Another breath of required air, “ _Je sais._ ” He is wrapping himself up in this. Allowing it soak into his mind and his brain through the distance or kilometers. Your eyes are pressing shut so tightly that you begin to see stars burst in colors of glittering shine over the infinite darkness. Your chest begins to quiver and the abs tighten, you cannot help a short, soundless sob falling out of your patent throat. Warmth drips onto your neck and you bite down on your hand to restrain the battles of emotion welling in your lungs. “ _Charles?_ ”, Pierre hears you even though no one else would have. He recognizes the hitches in you breath and vines of skeletal iron that is linking within you.

         “J'ai besoin de toi,” it comes out breathy and high pitched due to the struggle. The sound is thick with grief. “Si vous plait, Pierre…”

         “ _Je serai la._ ”

          _“J'ai besoin de toi_ ,” you repeat.

         “ _Attends-moi,_ ” they swallow, “C _harles_ , _je serai la.”_ It breaks your heart, the desperation in their voice.

         A shaky sentence comes out of your tongue to the receiving end of the phone. “Toujours, Pierre, toujours _._ ”

         “ _Je t'aime, Charles._ ”

         Through it all, you manage a smile that causes you to work a bottom lip between your top teeth. All you say is, “Je sais,” because it truly is all you have and need to say. The phone clicks off but you hold it to your ear for minutes after as if hoping you’ll hear them once again. There is the ghost of their breath on your cheek and the shade of their words as they color your insides. You think:

_He’ll be here._

         Not for a moment will you ever doubt the power of his words or their strength over you. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. I love comments so much, I need them. Contact me on Tumblr @sonofhistory of @pieregasly
> 
> Etes-vous là? = Are you there?  
> Tu n'as pas à parler = You don't have to speak  
> Je peux parler pour nous deux = I can speak for us both  
> Je peux te voir en ce moment = I can see you right now  
> Je sais ce que tu ressens maintenant = I know how you are feeling right now  
> Encore têtu = Still stubborn  
> mais toujours beau = but always beautiful  
> toujours beau, toujours = always beautiful, always  
> Ca ira = It will be alright  
> Tu me manques = I miss you  
> Je sais = I know  
> J'ai besoin de toi= I need you  
> Si vous plait = Please  
> Je serai la = I will be there  
> Attends-moi = Wait for me  
> Je t'aime = I love you


End file.
